


So Grows My Heart with Every Line

by matan4il



Series: Fics written for 911 fandom weeks [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Buddie First Kiss Week 2020, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Painting, Prompt: Domestic, recollection of a homophobic slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matan4il/pseuds/matan4il
Summary: Eddie takes up his therapist Frank’s suggestion to start painting again. He ends up finding his inspiration in the place he least expected.Written for Buddie First Kiss Week, for the 'domestic' prompt. I am responsible for nothing, these fools brought this fluff on themselves.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Fics written for 911 fandom weeks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818772
Comments: 49
Kudos: 265





	So Grows My Heart with Every Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainbowcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowcoffee/gifts).



> Belated birthday gift to Cami! Darling, you are so creative, your creations so beautiful, I wanted to write something for you that would speak to the importance of art in our lives, so this idea was born out of that. Thank you for all you do for the fandom, for helping me with my meta, for always being so genuinely enthusiastic and supportive and for being my friend. I love you and I wish you a happy day always, not just on your b-day! xoxox
> 
> Thank you to [Toughpaperround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToughPaperRound/pseuds/ToughPaperRound) for being an amazing, encouraging beta and to Eli for brainstorming with me on this fic, no doubt it would be poorer without you! 
> 
> Feel free to come say hi at [my Tumblr](matan4il.tumblr.com/)!

It was all Frank’s fault, really. That bastard. Never mind that Eddie’s started liking him, it’s still an accurate description. Therapy is never going to be Eddie’s thing, but he’s been doing better there, no longer feeling as incompetent about conveying his thoughts and emotions as he first did. But now Frank had to go and pull this stunt, so if Eddie could, he’d switch therapists just to make a point.

Not that it originally sounded like a bad idea. Sure, he was a bit skeptical when Frank suggested that he’d take up painting again as a form of expressing himself. It’s been years since he last held a paintbrush and while some people around him had had positive things to say, his parents made it clear that they viewed it as a nonsensical waste of time and expected him to quit. The thing about them is that they usually got what they wanted, especially out of their kids. 

Still, when Frank brought this up, he remembered the moments of tranquility he’d experience when he would overlook a landscape and patiently work to capture it on canvas, line for line. It would come alive with the beauty of whichever fragment of nature he would try to recreate. He thought that yeah, it could be nice, to have that sense of accomplishment back, if only fleetingly.

But inspiration has been alluding him for days. He drove to several spots around Los Angeles, seeking a striking panorama. There were plenty to choose from and he spent about a day at each, from the majestic cliffside of ‘The Sunken City’, through the picturesque Shakespeare Bridge to the serene Echo Park Lake. Nothing worked. These places were all gorgeous, drawing him to paint them, but whenever Eddie lay his paintbrush against the white canvas, something would be off. A disconnect. An inability to figure out how to move his hand, where to, what he was going for, it all got mixed up and nothing worked.

Today was the fourth and last attempt before Eddie was going to throw in the towel. He’s driving back from the canals at Venice Beach, cursing Frank inwardly. For each attempt to follow his therapist’s advice, Eddie had to wait and plan for a day off, arrange a sitter for Chris and spend the day without his son. He’s done wasting their time together. He went through Abuela, Pepa and Carla for his previous painting sessions, reluctant to ask any of them to do this for him more than once, so today was Buck’s turn. His best friend.

His secret crush.

Not that Eddie would ever admit to that. He learned early on to accept that life is simply going to deny him certain things. His dad’s approval. His mom’s warmth. The chance to kiss Dante, his football teammate, who was more affectionate with Eddie than anyone else ever had been before. Things like that weren’t done when he was growing up and if he was a teenager when he liked that boy, he was much younger when he first heard how Ramon Diaz talked about fags.

Dante is a far-removed memory, but Buck is here and now, with his starry eyes and tempting lips. And he’s Eddie’s best friend and way off limits. If it’s not enough that they’re both men, Buck is also notorious for how many people he had slept with during his wilder days, before they met, and all of the stories Eddie has heard were about women. He didn’t need the heartache or the disappointment of wanting someone else more than they wanted him. Buck liked him, they had a good friendship going on. That should be enough and Eddie was adamant he could figure out how to be satisfied with that.

When Eddie walks into his living room, carrying his keys and painting materials, he’s greeted by a sight he wasn’t prepared for. Buck is lying on the couch, eyes closed, curls soft and wild. Snuggled into his chest is Christopher, whose eyelids are fluttering as he dreams, held safely and close by Buck’s large, protective arms. There are things that Eddie didn’t know the human heart can do and they’re all exploding and melting in his chest simultaneously.

Without any hindering thought, he moves quietly to set his easel up by the couch, making every effort not to awaken its occupants, and starts to paint. The movements come quickly and naturally to him, one chasing the other in bold, warm colors. He’s not going for accuracy here, all he wants is this moment framed with everything bursting through his chest. The strokes join each other and slowly take form. He’s mesmerized by both the view in front of him and its reflection on the canvas, works almost in a trance to seize the magic before it would dissipate.

He’s so engrossed in the painting, he misses it when Buck awakes. Eddie only realizes it when he’s about to draw those hypnotic eyes and is startled to find them open and trained on him. That’s the only sign anything has changed since he started and after a momentary hesitation, he takes that as permission to continue and he does, only ever briefly pausing when his gaze shifts and meets Buck's.

However long it takes, they remain silent throughout. The light filtering in is soft and compliments the subject of the painting. Eddie could go on like this, he’s not even sure himself for how long. But all good things must come to an end, he knows, and this has been so exceptionally blissful. He’s done and puts down his brush in its assigned place in the easel. Buck stirs on the couch, gently cradling Chris in his arms as he stands up. Eddie wonders whether his son would wake up, but his sleep seems undisturbed as soon as he’s locked two small hands behind Buck’s neck.

Eddie waits as his friend carries Christopher to his bedroom and returns several minutes later to stand before the painting. 

Buck’s face is what Eddie’s watching, all the small ways in which it’s transformed by a succession of feelings as his fingers move in the air over the canvas, tracking the lines. They’re hard to read, but awe and disbelief are clearly there.

“Eddie,” Buck finally speaks up, “I didn’t... If I would have realized..."

It doesn’t make sense to Eddie and anticipation swiftly makes room for concern, fear even, in the pit of his stomach.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

Buck turns to him and they’re so close, it hurts. “I’m in love with you, too.” It’s stated plainly, as if the painting has made it into the most obvious thing in the world, the secret that Eddie’s been hiding. “I thought it was just me.”

Happiness bubbles up inside Eddie, pushing its way through his chest, threatening to burst out. It can’t be real, but for someone who’s been denied so many things for most of his life, even the mere hint of having what he wants is enough to elicit this reaction. He has to be sure. “Buck, do you understand what you’re saying?”

The expression of utter annoyance that he gets in response is hilarious, but it’s not amusement that’s making him giddy. Buck picks up the brush from the easel and without warning, smears some paint on the tip of Eddie’s nose. “Doubt my comprehension skills again when I’m telling you that I love you and there’s more where that came from.”

Eddie can’t help the laughter that’s loosened up from his chest. “Oh, yeah?”

“Definitely,” he gets a wide grin as his answer.

“Well, you can try, but if you mess up my living room, you’re cleaning it all up by yourself.”

Buck pulls a face as the brush is snatched out of his hand, right before his expression clears up. He quickly moves to the far side of the couch, where a white sheet is bunched up. “Sorry, I meant to cover up Chris while we were napping, but I guess I must have kicked it off. If you really wanna have a paint war,” he points his chin in that direction, “we can do it without any danger to your living room.”

Eddie comes to stand right in front of him, nudges the tip of his painted nose against Buck’s. “That’s not what I want to do.”

It’s a promise that Eddie makes good on when he raises the brush in his hand and sketches one line across Buck’s face, drawing it under his eyes, accentuating them. Eddie takes a step back to admire his work. That’s all it takes for Buck to raise his arms and pull off his t-shirt, dropping it just outside the perimeter of the sheet. He freezes after that, as if he’s not sure that he didn’t overstep. His shoulders are slumped a little and the thought that this man is in need of reassurance regarding just how beautiful he is verges on heartbreaking. Eddie swears to himself that he will do anything he can to provide it, now and for as long as Buck wants him to. He places the brush aside, taking a tube of paint, squeezing some out onto his palm and then he spreads it lazily and lovingly over Buck’s pecs, leaves the marks of his admiration across his entire torso. 

“You should probably..." Buck tugs on his sleeve and Eddie gets it, pulling his henley over his head and tossing it aside.

Buck selects another tube of paint and once his fingers are covered, he brings them to the back of Eddie’s nape, trailing down from there over one shoulder and then he stops. Spreads one palm across the skin that covers Eddie’s heart. ‘Mine,’ Buck might as well have said. ‘Yours,’ Eddie replies by pressing his own hands over it.

It brings their bodies closer together, their hips pressing against each other. Eddie engulfs Buck’s neck and trails a line from that spot down to the shoulder and across it, along one arm and down his side to where their hips are practically joined, crosses from one torso to the other in one uninterrupted motion, up his own side and chest to the top of his neck. He cups Buck’s face in both of his hands, marking it in return. 

‘Yes. Yours, too,’ Buck’s fingers touch the back of his hands before they move to pull him in, twisting in his hair. Whatever distance they had kept between them, it’s gone and when their lips meet with the gentleness of a precious thing desired for far too long, the line that Eddie drew over both their bodies is closed, their first kiss sealing them together into one complete shape.


End file.
